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OF NOTABLE PIANO CONCERTOS,

NEGLECTED AND OTHERWISE
By H. H. BELLAMANN
ONCERT-GIVERS and concert-goers have conspired to
make certain piano concertosdistressinglywell knownto us.
The innumerablerepetitions of these concertos, judged by
the legitimate demands of musical progress, seems unjustifiable;
but the experienceof those intrepid enough to venture the unfamiliar,exhibit some results of sufficientweight to give us pause
in the very act of censuringthe less courageous.
A most excellent pianist-a pianist of eclectic tastes and
immense repertoire, played in London recently a concerto by
Tcherepnin. An habitual concert-goersaid, "Oh, I can't go and
sit throughan unfamiliarwork!"
There was but slight critical remarkin the press-neither the
concertonor the playing receivedanything like the fullnessof comment which followed later performancesby the same pianist of
more familiar works. It is, of course, not conceivable that the
deprivation of certain familiar critical hand-holds could deter
critics and public from an expressionof either approval or disapproval. It must be attributed to a state of mind that is quickened from apathy only by the anticipation of familiar applausemaking moments which rendercomparativecriticism easy.
We are frequently pleased by the utterances of platitudes
because we believe they give expressionto something which we
believe we have thought for ourselves. The confirmationof our
views is flatteringthough it may be of things the world has known
and accepted for a thousand years. In some such fashion are we
pleased at a concert by the traditional presentationof a familiar
work. It confirmsour notion of how the thing shouldbe done and
our approbationof the performanceand of ourselves proceeds in
hand-in-handamicabilityby a broad and easy road.
Aside from a very few heaven-scaling achievements in concerto literature such as Beethoven's E-flat, Schumann's, and
Brahms'D-minor, whoseperformanceshouldbe frequentand whose
audition should be approached with something of sacramental
gravity, aside from these we might do well with quite rare hearings
399

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of the large majority of constantly programmed concertos. Of

course we shall wish, probably for generations to come, to hear
sometimes one or two of the Mozart concertos, if given in concerthalls of appropriately intimate size. The Chopin F-minor may not
be a time defying work, but its somewhat overdressed loveliness is
engaging even now when we have accustomed ourselves to a more
stimulating beauty. Dust has settled forever, let us hope, on the
Hummels, the Henselts, the Litolffs and Mendelssohns-"die
unendlichen nichtssagenden." The Concerto Pathetique of Liszt,
originally for two pianos, is forgotten. One of the others will
conceivably follow. Rubinstein's inflated scores enjoy longer and
longer periods of repose. Some of Saint-Saens' show indubitable
signs of dry rot though the fourth and fifth have a right to be
heard more frequently and deserve long and happy lives for their
ingratiating charm, suavity and sometimes cynically dextrous
handling of gossamer material.
The plaster has already fallen from the poor skeleton of Massenet's one essay in this field; the Martucci is no more; those by
Dupont and Godard were still-born and the one by Theo. Ysaye
must have seen the light but a short time. The Grieg is still fresh.
Many of the Russian concertos are lit by dramatic moments all too
quickly obscured by thick German writing-the later Rachmaninoff
excepted, as well as that colorful and gratefully short one movement concerto by Rimsky-Korsakoff. Of Tschaikowsky, why not
"the other one" sometimes? It tosses its mane less dramatically
and paws the earth in less fiery manner but it is beautiful in quite
its own way. The extremely Lisztian concerto in B-flat by Bortkiewicz is brilliant and grateful but unoriginal. Max Reger's one
concerto for piano is a rather splendid effort. It is done on a big
canvas with surprisingly gorgeous color. The middle movement,
a slow one, differs in atmosphere and content from any concerto
I know. There is a hint of something legendary, almost operatic,
that reaches quite to the remote regions of modern imagination.
Then there is a hand-filling, ear-filling concerto in D-flat by Sinding
that Shattuck would play well.
It is regrettable that Sibelius has given us no piano concerto.
He should do a good one. His long melodic line and individual
impressionism-a kind of musical fresco-should make capital
concerto material.
Of concertos written by learned but quite uninspired lesser
German composers there is a small regiment. From these, by
reason of superior taste, emerges one by Otto Singer. The concertos by Xaver Scharwenka fail to intrigue the interest. Quite

Of Notable Piano Concertos, Neglected and Otherwise 401

unaccountably Moszkowski's concerto failed to take on. It deserves more attention-it is sparkling, witty and often distinguished.
One must feel grateful for a very small number of modern
concertos most useful for teaching. I insist that when a concerto
is too old fashioned, too trite and threadbare for the public, that
the schoolroom is no place for it and I resent the remark: "This
should be left for the conservatory student and boarding-school
girl." We might well be more careful of what we offer to an unformed taste than we are of what we offer to the public!
Two modern examples, occuring to memory at this moment,
are highly useful for the teacher who wishes the benefits of concerto
study for the pupil who has not the technical equipment for greater
epics; one is by Gabriel Pierne, the other, an almost unknown
composition, by Isaac Albeniz.
Pierne's concerto is very fresh and lovely, though it must
truthfully be said, of extreme paucity of content; but it is so tuneful
and so useful for rhythm and crispness of phrasing and is so grateful to the student that even the most conservative teacher must
be thankful for it. Instead of the usual andante the middle movement is a scherzo characterized by genuine Gallic piquancy. The
Albeniz is less valuable but can be used for less advanced players.
The first movement affords some excellent practice in double notes,
octaves, and rapid passages. The second movement, a Reverie
and Scherzo is slight; the third, built on transformed themes of
the first movement, is good rhythmically. The entire composition
is not too long.
Comparatively recently there has been brought to hearing in
England a concerto by Delius (I think not yet heard in America),
and in this country one by George W. Boyle.
Arne Oldberg's rather Brahmsian but scholarly concerto is
one of the most dignified compositions of large calibre that America
can lay claim to. There are some very dull ones which are occasionally heard when their composers elect to feature them. The
MacDowell concertos have made a place for themselves and are
likely to last for a long time, though they show a distressing tendency to wear dull in spots-few concertos do not, for that matter.
Passing in review the number of fine concertos, old and new,
we find a considerable number that disengage themselves and stand
apart and aloft, but how monotonously similar of content and
contour! One tires of even great mountain peaks of unvarying
profile.
Contemporary piano concertos lean very heavily on either
Liszt or Brahms. Very few can claim an individual silhouette.

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I can think of three which seem to me to be exceptions. These

seem to be rooted in the nature of the modernpiano and to be of
the peculiar genius of that instrument. I am speaking of the
great Concertoin C by Busoni, the ConcertoEroico, Op. 8, by
OttokarNovacek, and the Concertoin C-minor,Op. 77, by Charles
Marie Widor.

The first of these is widely known by reputationor by slight

acquaintancewith the score; the other two, I fancy, are being
called to the attention of many readersfor the first time. These
concertos,widely differentin physiognomy,are yet related in that
they are distinguishedfrom the rank and file of concertoliterature
by loftiness of purpose, profundityof content, finished workmanship and deep sincerity. Although they show certain hereditary
traits which but acknowledgethe debt that every composerowes
to his predecessors,they are yet so originalin concept and execution that not one of them may be said to bear more than a superficial resemblance,and these of a technical character, to other
works. One thing they have stronglyin common:each one exhibits
the authentic piano idiom, and so stands sharply differentiated
from the two great classes of modernconcertos,which, as has been
said, lean so heavily on Liszt and Brahms. The Brahms pensee
musicaleis not of the piano, but is abstract or absolute. The
Liszt habit of thought, while pianistic in every sense, does not
always exploit the unique possibilitiesof the piano as it is understood in modern times. He foreshadowedin some pages of the
Sonataquasifantasia apres une lecturedu Dante the elaborateand
diffused "repetitionalpercussion"which Busoni uses so tellingly
in his transcriptionof the Bach Chaconne. The intricate and
colorful polyphonic web which may be woven on the piano keyboard waited for larger exploitation on Godowsky and Busoni,
with a contribution, not generally recognized,from Max Reger.
Of course,as has often been pointedout, no one can write as though
Debussy had not lived-and no one does.
These features of the piano: its fluid sonority which can be
handledin mass and made to surgelike waves of the sea, its peculiarly sculpturalplay of light and shade whichgives us a Rodinesque
sense of solidity, volume and profile, its vibrant impressionism
which the pedal over concurrentharmoniesgives us-an impressionism comparableto the effect of broken color in paintingthese eminentlymoder developmentsappearrichly and plentifully
in these concertos.
The gigantic Busoni score-it runs throughone hundred and
seventy-eightpages (exclusiveof the separatelyprintedcadenza)in

Of Notable Piano Concertos, Neglected and Otherwise 403

Egon Petri's two piano version-is probably the longest of all piano
concertos. It is in five movements and utilizes a male chorus in
the last movement to a text from Oehlenschlaeger's "Aladin."
It has had public performances-Egon Petri, a disciple of Busoni,
being a noteworthy interpreter.
The German text of the choral section will probably make it
impossible of future production in countries where it might otherwise be heard, though I am sure some other language could give
us an adequate restatement of the text-Latin perhaps! No one
could charge Latin as being the vehicle of any unpleasant hangover from the late war.
Personally, I have never been quite happy in the German
text for the last movement. It imparts a localizing flavor that
seems out of harmony with the super-geographical atmosphere of
the work as a whole.
Busoni's commanding position in the world of art has drawn
attention to his work at times when one is constrained to believe
that its transcendental character could have won the notice of
only the very few. He has the uncompromising artistic conscience
of great genius. So colossal a work as this piano concerto must
necessarily wait upon proper perspective for adequate judgment,
but a consideration of its striking differences must impress one
even on superficial examination with the sense of having assisted
at the discovery of a giant and solitary monument of human
imagination.
The first movement, Prologo e Introito, begins allegro, dolce
e solenne. The deftness with which the swift play of harmonic
color is handled proclaims Busoni's Latin blood at once. A lesser
composer could not have resisted the temptation to be grandiose.
The piano solo begins with a series of magnificent chordal
arches whose thematic exfoliation in the following pages imposes
stupendous difficulties upon the executant. The first few pages
suggest, not in either matter or manner, but in their cosmic magnificence, the opening pages of Strauss' Also sprach Zarathustra.
It is difficult to recall any composer who has given such aid to
the interpreter as Busoni has done in these pages by vivid and
graphic direction through unusual words. The following words
arrest the eye upon cursory survey of the score: lampeggiante,
burrasco, slanciato, risvegliandosi,fracasso, assotigliando.
The second movement: Pezzo giocoso; the third: Pezzo serioso,
containing some of the most beautiful pages in the whole score;
the fourth movement: All' Italiana, a tarantella movement which
in itself demands the utmost of the pianist. The fifth movement:

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Cantico,beginningwith a swingingfiguresimilarto the solo beginning of the first movement leads into the choral section. This is
very suave and beautifulwritingand proceedsby gravelymounting
lines over a piano obbligatoto a thrillingclimax.
It is not the purposeof this article to analyze a score easily
accessible,but to redirectattention to a great artistic gospel which
no serious student of music can afford to ignore. Very few will
ever play it-very few can, but the pianist can learn much about
novel effects which may be carriedback to the familiarrepertoire;
the composerwill be struck by the amazing unity in a work of
such dimensions and variety. It is an unforgettablelesson in
compositionto observe how even the slightest ornamentis made
to bear its sharein the symphonicburden.
The brief notices of OttokarNovacek in biographicaldictionaries yields the scant informationthat he was born in Hungary
in 1866 and died in New York in 1900. He played in the Boston
Symphony under Nikisch and in the New York Symphony under
Damrosch until weaknessof the heart compelledhim to give up
playing when he devoted himself to composition. Three string
quartets, two concert caprices for piano, the first a Praeludium,
the second a Toccata, both dedicatedto Grieg, some compositions
for violin and a few songs make up the list of his publishedcompositions with the addition of his remarkableConcertoEroico which
is dedicatedto Busoni who later gave it its first publicperformance.
Of the concert caprices for violin, the "Pagininistrich"and the
"PerpetuumMobile" are especially effective. Among the songs,
the "Flammentod"approachesgreatness.
The ConcertoEroico is in one movement with a number of
divisions. In content it is abstruse,technicallyit is very difficult,
requiringin additionto exceptionallystrong wrists, great dexterity
of finger and the mental capacity to sustain an unusual mood
through forty-five pages of closely woven score. Sombrewithout
being fretful, fateful without being pessimistic, funereal at times
without lugubriousness,triumphantwithout becomingbacchannalian, the conclusionleaves one with a sense of the spiritualgreatness
that accepts life without entirely vanquishingfate. There is just
that acceptanceof life, almost defiant, which we feel in so many
of Beethoven's greatest works, the Appassionatasonata for example-in fact, the impressionNovacek leaves is that of a rather
HungarianBeethoven. There is a tragic grandeurthat wears a
garb more brilliant and exotically colored than does Beethoven.
Reading the concerto from the dramaticand threateningopening
in C-minor to its clangorousconclusion in E-flat one receives a

Of Notable Piano Concertos, Neglected and Otherwise 405

picture which might be most well expressed by the splendid lines
that open Edwin Arlington Robinson's "The Man Against the
Sky":
Between me and the sunset, like a dome
Against the glory of a worldon fire,
Now burneda suddenhill,
Bleak, round, and high, by flame-litheight made higher,
With nothing on it for the flameto kill
Save one who moved and was alone up there
To loom beforethe chaos and the glare
As if he were the last god going home
Unto his last desire.

Most musicians are likely to be surprised at the claim that

the great organist at St. Sulpice in Paris, distinguished composer
of the now classic organ symphonies, is the creator of a noteworthy
piano concerto. Anyone familiar with his first concerto for piano,
a work written many years ago and bearing the stamp of bygone
pianistic fashions, would be totally unprepared for the work of
the master's maturity as set forth in his Op. 77.
Charles Marie Widor has been growmg steadily through a
long life devoted to musical composition-he was born in 1845 and
has been organist at St. Sulpice since 1870! His output has been
very large although he works slowly. A survey of his compositions
would reveal that he has always been most keenly conscious of
the tendencies in musical composition. But Parisians, like a large
part of the musical world, have been unable to think of Widor
in any other r6le than that of organist and composer for the organ.
The impressive and unequalled performances of Bach have overshadowed the composer of the charming piano pieces such as the
delicate, gay and very French Carnaval. The Fantasie, Op. 62, for
piano and orchestra, a large work dedicated to Isidor Philipp and
the sonata for violin and piano, Op. 79, dedicated to Massenet, are
works of extremely modern character. They have a quality that
is highly individual-they are scholarly without being in the least
dry, and original with a dextrous avoidance of the commonplace
that is greater than cleverness. But works of monumental magnitude for the piano are very little to the taste of the Parisian
musical public. Widor has traveled less than most French composers and virtuosi and has therefore not made a public for himself
outside of France.
The Concerto, Op. 77, is dedicated to Francis Plante but was
played for the first time at the Cologne concerts by Philipp.
Philipp has played it several times since, occasionally under the

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composer's baton. It has not been publicly played, I think, in

America, excepting one obscure performance on two pianos.
Certainly, this concerto could be recommended only for a
cultured and musically sophisticated audience. It is very long, it
is inordinately difficult to play and its import is not easily grasped,
but every pianist should know it as an example of the French
school of composition at its distinguished best. For the formation
of a pianistic style informed with French clarity and precision,
limpidity and grace this concerto is invaluable. The many technical problems are varied and great. Oft-times the phrase under
the hand is crabbedly intractable, but the problem solved means
an enormous gain in that polish and finish which are so admirable
in the playing of the best French pianists.
There is but little "brilliant" work in the first movementlittle brilliancy of the fire-works type, but the entire movement
is alive with the restrained brilliancy of a well cut and well set
jewel. The means are beautifully subordinated to the end and the
entire concerto is a document in proof that French piano composition, like French piano playing, has remained true to the
genius of the instrument. Everywhere in these pages there is
published a profound knowledge of the peculiar sonorities of the
piano, whether it is in a simple unisono, two octaves apart, but
lying in the best sounding registers as at the beginning of the
solo part, or whether it is in widely dispersed arpeggio passages
in cross rhythms such as occur near the finale-always the piano
seems to be at its best and graciously disposed to yield a surprising
euphony upon the economical material used.
The slow movement is contemplative to a degree almost
Franckian, though there is no suggestion of Flemish mysticism:
Widor is always French. The orchestration is ravishing here for
the first twenty-five or thirty bars, then the piano part moves in
greater animation and finally breaks from the orchestra in a very
striking cadenza. The second movement merges into the third
without a pause.
One of the most effective passages in the last movement is
made up of rapid descending scales played in the lower registers
of the piano against strings only in which the divided violas playing
a wavering cross rhythm of sextolets seem to drop veil upon veil
over the rising and falling piano figures and the later entrance in
the wood wind of a sharply rhythmical transformation of a theme
from the first movement.
This concerto is much less ready to yield results of the kind
designated as "effective" than either of the other two we have had

Of Notable Piano Concertos, Neglected and Otherwise 407

under consideration. Like many other art-works of a very advanced and sophisticated civilization it presents at times a rather
glacial exterior. The pianist learns gradually that he is dealing
with a quite different set of values. These are not the shouting
colors of the virtuoso school. Making all the demands of a virtuoso
technic, it asks a more delicately modulated tone, a greater command of half lights, and more degrees of force between mezzoforte
and pianissimo. The pianist is suddenly required to speak a very
finished French with his fingers!
The music of Widor is a music very different from the music
of Debussy and Ravel. He has little to do with that pastel impressionism which is temperamentally such close kin to Oriental mysticism, nor has he much more to do with that Rabelaisianism which
Romain Rolland says is more essentially French. His music, as
I see it, is of that finely tempered French spirit which expresses
itself with an aristocratic disdain of the commonplace and keeps
absolute faith with artistic integrity.
These three concertos represent three widely separated phases
of modern musical thought: they differ from the large number of
compositions in this form not only in degree but in kind: they
make widely different demands upon piano technic and upon
musical understanding. The pianist who is familiar with them
will find himself surprisingly well prepared, musically and technically, for the future development of his art.